


Death of a King

by lovesickFrontman



Series: DreamSMP One Shots [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Character Study, Dream makes it 3 for 3, Gen, Major Character Injury, Murder, the prison scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29792580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesickFrontman/pseuds/lovesickFrontman
Summary: Tommy realizes something is horribly wrong when Dream's hands once again clap onto either side of his face, crimson and rust stained into the grooves of his squeezing palms, and instead of blind rage there is decisive, bloody determination in his stare.“Why don’t you go see him in there, then.”And with those soft, calm words, Dream shoves Tommy to the floor once again. Before Tommy can blink, Dream plants his knees on either side of his torso and those average, unremarkable hands come up towards Tommy’s tanned, unblemished throat.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: DreamSMP One Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2190702
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	Death of a King

“Dream.”

The name hangs in the damp, dim air of the obsidian cell, weighing heavy in the throats of the two figures glaring at each other from either side of the obsidian cage. Hanging serious as a heart attack in the wake of Dream’s claim to godhood.

Dream. The name itself seemed like so much yet so little to Tommy. Dream, the man who was behind all of the suffering and confusion and isolation from the beginning. The man pulling the strings, the compulsive liar, the threat. Dream, the tall, thin man standing across the cell from Tommy, eyes bubbling with anger and fists held tightly at his sides. The man Tommy had been terrorizing nonstop since that sickening announcement that Tommy was to be locked in with Dream until god knows when. Right now, Tommy muses, Dream didn’t look like anything else besides a man in his prison oranges. An insecure, lonely, little man.

Crossing his arms, Tommy relished in how far the once controller of his life had fallen, a smug look on his perpetually dirt-smudged face.

“What does that mean?” Dream spits, head tilted forward like a ram baring his horns. “You can’t kill me.”

The man pauses in thought before a sick, mocking smile twists his face, posture loosening as he presses both hands to his chest, leaning forward like an earnest child confessing a secret. Images of Dream in full netherite, TNT in hand, that same sick fucking expression on his face flicker through Tommy’s mind.

“Does that make me some kind of god?” Dream’s eyes regain that familiar edge of aggression as he steps closer, taunting Tommy.

“Does that me me some kind of-”

Tommy’s rage bubbles forth and explodes. Explodes like his armor in those dozens of holes. Explodes like his innocent belief in Wilbur’s goodness at heart. Explodes like L’Manberg and his fucking friends and Tubbo and-

Tommy steps forward and balls his fists in the shoulders of Dream’s uniform, shaking him sharply before turning around and pacing the cell frantically, agitated beyond belief.

“You can’t kill me- fucking strong as- shut the-” the boy viciously mocks, voice pitched him in disgust.

He whirls around to face Dream, fists clenched so hard they’ve become numb only to find Dream standing silently right behind him, face eerily blank. It's silent in the cell for a moment as Tommy falters, stepping back a bit before rallying his courage. Dream wouldn’t- no, _couldn’t_ do anything to him.

“No, Dream.” Tommy says softly, diplomatically, before his cocky confidence returns to him.

“I could kill you right now, if I wanted to.” He mentally pats himself on the back. Way to be the bigger man, big man. Put the bastard in his place.

Tommy watches as Dream's eyes retain that cold calculation he despises and scoffs lightly. He would not be cowed by some prisoner, some spud-hoarding, cat-mourning, Tommy-obssessed orange fuck.

“Okay,” Dream begins softly, frame relaxing from that unnatural stillness into a more normal relaxation.

Tommy swallows thickly in the space between words.

“But you won’t.” Dream seems to regain that spark of rage he possessed earlier, voice pitched with agitation rolling into acidic, agitating anger.

Dream steps forward, now thoroughly inside Tommy’s space and Tommy refuses to step back, to show weakness. He desperately tries to remind himself that Dream doesn’t hold any power over him anymore with his weak ass _lie_ of a revival book. Tommy’s knees are weak.

“But you won’t” Dream hisses, his right hand reaching out to fist tightly in Tommy’s red and white collar.

The boy was still in his regular clothes from a time before raw potatoes and the constant red-orange glow of lava. Fear spikes sickly in Tommy’s stomach as he reaches up to cover Dream’s hand on his shirt, trying to pry the increasingly angry man off and get distance as he replies.

“You know why I won’t?” Tommy retorts harshly, kicking at Dream’s knees as Dream lets go of Tommy’s shirt and gives him a powerful shove into the glittering, abrasive obsidian back wall. Tommy chokes out a gasp as he feels the glass-sharp ridges of the walls slice through his shirt into his back, eyes flickering quickly across Dream’s body as the man steps forward to meet Tommy.

“Because I’m leaving this prison in a-”, Tommy frantically crows before Dream settles his hands on either of Tommy’s shoulder and plants a vicious knee into Tommy’s stomach.

Tommy retches, bending over with the top of his head pressed into Dream’s chest as the larger man shifts his hands from Tommy’s shoulders to either side of his head as he lifts and brings it down towards his incoming knee. Tommy cries out in pain, hands flying up to cup his misshapen, crimson-dripping nose as he sinks to his knees in front of Dream.

The older man regards him then, furious green eyes cooling down into a dangerous, unreadable simmer. His hands, pale, scarred, and unsettlingly average, bat Tommy’s hands away and clutch tightly on either side of his face, forcing the boy to look up as Dream towers over him. For a second, nothing happens. The only sound in the cell is the harsh, wet pants of Tommy’s breathing as he struggles to pinpoint when exactly things went to hell, familiar Dream-associated terror pooling jittery and molten in his stomach.

Dream leans down slightly, wide, emotionless eyes staring down into the dilated, pain-hazed eyes of Tommy as he whispers: “You don’t want to”.

Instantly, Tommy regains his righteous rage.

“Don’t fucking-”, he starts, hands flying up to claw viciously at Dream’s exposed forearms, scratching thin red lines into wiry muscle. “I want to-”

Dream retaliates, letting go of Tommy’s face before clocking him in the jaw with his left arm, letting the boy sprawl across the glittering black floor from the force of the blow. Tommy’s body curls in on itself for a second as if to protect him from coming blows before he starts frantically crawling away from Dream and back towards the front of the cell. His mouth opens as if to speak, eyes blown wide with terror as Dream strides up to his aching body and kicks him solidly in the ribs, forcing the breath from Tommy’s lungs.

Tommy curls up into a ball then, hands scraped raw from the rough floor as he shields his head from Dream’s continued kicks. It hits again in his stomach, twice more in his ribs, and once in a brutal stomp over Tommy's ankle before he regains his breath enough to speak.

“Stop it! Stop it now!” Tommy shrieks from within the cradle of his arms, Dream kicks him once more.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it, I’m on two hearts.” His voice cracks in the middle of the half plead half command.

When no more blows from Dream come, he slowly uncurls his body, leaning gingerly back against the cell wall as his right hand clutches his ribs. It’s silent once again aside from grunts of pain, panting, and shift of cloth as Tommy achingly rises to his feet, one hand against his ribs, the other grabbing the cell wall for support. 

When Tommy meets Dream’s eyes, he can’t explain the jolt that shoots down his spine as anything other than fear. The man is standing still a few feet away from Tommy, hands loose at his sides and feet spread. Aside from the orange jumpsuit, he’s wearing nothing but a pair of white, laceless tennis shoes. Either he’s hiding some sort of iron boot in those or he kicks like a mule, Tommy observes, humor drained in the face of the agony originating from all over his body.

The man’s face is the main cause of Tommy’s fear. His eyes are swimming in bloodlust and bitter amusement, eyebrows arched pleasantly and mouth curled in a small, sadistic smile. Something whispers in Tommy’s ear that despite the kicks not coming anymore, this fight is far from over.

The boy swallows thickly, throat choked in fear and anger and blood as he lashes out once again at the creature that stands before him wearing the name and face of Dream.

“The reason I’m not is because I know you’re in this prison, and _m_ _e_? I’m gonna get my little scooter out and I’ll be _fine_ , Dream.” Tommy continues, bulldozing over the small huff of amusement originating from the being in front of him as the man turns away from Tommy, facing the wall of lava and the warden far beyond it.

A small voice in Tommy’s head whispers to him that Dream is checking to see whether the warden is there or not (he isn’t there). But no, Dream wouldn’t. As much as they fight and bicker and hurt each other, Dream wouldn’t  _ Kill _ kill him in the same way that Tommy wouldn’t  _ Kill _ kill Dream. After so many days of purposefully aggravating the man, there’s no chance that today would be the final straw, right?  _ They’ve come to blows before without seriously intending harm to each other _ , Tommy reasons, though no specific examples come to his mind.

“You? _You’re_ stuck in here forever. I don’t think this revive book is real.” the boy scoffs.

Dream turns back towards Tommy. 

“Schlatt? He’s fucking _dead_.”

Rage and disgust froths at the corners of Tommy’s mouth as he staggers off the wall, taking a halting step towards Dream, blind to the sudden emptiness of Dream’s features. 

“I’ve seen his grave.”

He thinks of his brother, of Wilbur, who never got a grave.

“His grave is real, his corpse is there. _Alright_?” Tommy shouts, echoing within the inescapable, sweat-stenched cell he and Dream share. 

Tommy realizes something is horribly wrong when Dream's hands once again clap onto either side of his face, crimson and rust stained into the grooves of his squeezing palms, and instead of blind rage there is decisive, bloody determination in his stare.

“Why don’t you go see him in there, then.”

And with those soft, calm words, Dream shoves Tommy to the floor once again. Before Tommy can blink, Dream plants his knees on either side of his torso and those average, unremarkable hands come up towards Tommy’s tanned, unblemished throat.

“No! Stop it, stop it, stop, **stop**!-” Tommy screams, sobbing and begging as his own hands try to slap Dream’s away to no avail.

As Dream’s fingers reach home and begin to tighten around Tommy’s neck, everything goes still and bursts into action all at once.

Despite everything that has happened, Tommy truly trusted Dream to not take the final step and truly kill Tommy. Sure, the man had taken every one of Tommy’s previous lives and the lives of others, but this final life was his Life. Once that's snuffed out, there’s no more Tommy.

A few tears slip down Tommy’s reddening cheeks as his hands reach up to claw at Dream’s face, now distorted into an animalistic snarl befitting the brutality of the act.

Surely this is all just a joke, right? Dream wouldn’t kill Tommy like this, alone in their cell, no audience or glory or purpose beyond the single act of eradication.

Tommy gasps for air that just won’t come.

Would he? All the rage and confidence and foolish bluster disappear from Tommy like water on hot sand. He shouldn’t have come here. He should of never fucking gone to this shitty death trap of a prison and laid eyes on Dream’s smarmy, bullshit bastard face. Maybe if he just moved on and left Dream in his past he wouldn’t be having the life strangled out of him by the very man he sought out to visit.

Dream’s thighs squeeze in on his abdomen from either side, tightening his chest even more as Tommy’s lungs burn with a vicious, tearing, agonizing pain he hasn’t felt the equivalent of for a long, long time.

All at once, the irony of the scene strikes Tommy. Not even an hour ago Tommy was standing proudly in this cell snuffing the life out of his pet cat in order to have some sort of petty vengeance against Dream. To inflict upon his even a fraction of the pain he had inflicted upon Tommy. Maybe if he hadn’t killed that stupid cat this wouldn’t be happening. Maybe if Tommy had been good, he wouldn’t be in this situation at all.

Tommy quickly descends into begging as his vision starts to fuzz around the edges, the sweating, flushed, contorted face of Dream the focus of his own dilated, red veined eyes.

The hands that had been weakly clawing his face drop down to the two hands clenched like a vice around Tommy’s throat, urgently petting the hands like a scared animal. Tommy’s mouth is open, moving weakly through a pale pantomime of the words ‘Please’, ‘Stop’, and ‘Dream’. He would do anything, say anything, be anything Dream wants him to be if it means he gets to see the outside of this damned cell again.

Dream’s face loosens for a second into some unreadable expression. Tommy’s heart jackhammers in hope as those fingers move and adjust slightly, lungs shrieking and begging for air. That hope quickly dies as Dream’s fingers press into Tommy’s neck with even more viciousness, Tommy’s eyes blown wide in betrayal once again as it finally hits him that there’s nothing he can do to stop this from happening.

No begging, no bartering, no words he could say or things he could do to save his own sorry life. Tommy knew he was going to die on this prison cell floor, stomach heavy with raw potato, mouth tasting of iron, and body beat black and blue.

A final burst of energy takes hold of Tommy as his legs try to kick at and dislodge Dream, hands shooting up once again to scratch desperately at Dream’s face and eyes.

Dream holds steady, face peppered with scratches and eyes wide and staring down at Tommy’s as if he can’t afford to miss one single moment or microexpression Tommy makes as his vision blurs and begins to fade, legs stilling and hands dropping down in exhaustion.

The last thought that flickers through Tommy’s bruised, hazy consciousness is that if he's gone, then there’s no one left to protect Tubbo.

Tommy’s breathing drops off, Dream doesn’t let go. A few minutes later, Tommy’s heart stops, a notification bearing both Tommy and Dream’s names flickers across the chat board, and Dream finally lets go.   
  


* * *

Static and blood rushes through Dream’s ears as he removes his fingers from their group around Tommy’s neck. He had done it. The decision had been made and he had followed through.

All at once, the energy dissolves from Dream’s body as he half stumbles half falls off of Tommy’s body onto the floor to the right of it, sitting with his arms resting on his bent knees as he faces the fiery glow of the lava wall.

He waits for a minute as his heart rate slows, his heavy pants giving away into steady breathing. He pauses and listens. Silence. Echoing silence aside from the still spiked beat of Dream’s heart, his own quiet breathing, and the occasional gurgle of lava.

It’s the first time Dream has had quiet since Tommy stepped into his cell all those days ago.

Thoughts still curiously blank, Dream turns his head to look at the body that was once Tommy.

All the wild spirit, annoyance, anger, and boasting cockiness that had characterized the teen was absent in Death, leaving just the frame that housed the being known as Tommy.

Blank blue irises and red-veined sclera are fogged over in death, staring half lidded and unwaveringly at the spot that Dream’s face occupied not even a minute ago. The body itself is contorted uncomfortably, legs rotated awkwardly and hands sprawled on either side of his body. His shirt is wrinkled at the front where Dream grabbed it. His white tennis shoes are untied and his jeans are filthy with dirt. Dried blood marks what was once a river of red down Tommy’s chin, dripping onto his neck and the white of his shirt.

His neck. Bruised royal purple and heart red in thick swathes that mark out exactly how Dream’s finger fit around his flesh in order to squeeze the life out of him.

Dream looks down at his own hands resting in front of him. The knuckles on his left hand are bruised from where he hit Tommy and both are covered in scratches from Tommy’s death throes. His forearms are bloody messes. Dream’s sure that if he checked underneath Tommy’s nails he’d find Dream’s own skin and blood.

The familiar face and body of the boy that’d been all Dream cared about from the beginning. The child turned teenager, the obsession that always was. And now, the flesh without an occupant. The house without a light. For now.

Dream drops his forehead down onto his forearms, hiding his face in the cocoon of his body.

A rusty, halting sob breaks the silence of the obsidian tomb, creaking into harsh, halting laughter.

* * *

From beyond the lava, Sam’s heart skips a beat as he reads chat.

Tubbo rubs his eyes and reads again.

Ranboo bursts into tears.

Jack exhales shakily.

**‘TommyInnit was slain by Dream.’**   


**Author's Note:**

> So how about that stream, huh?  
> This is my first published fanfic & I slammed it out in 4 hours after my best friend urged me to watch the latest Tommy stream. I knew shit was going to be fucked up when I saw it was only 30 minutes long, but geez.  
> Anyways, I'd really appreciate any feedback or kudos or interaction. It's easy to give and it makes me so much more motivated to make writing that myself and others could enjoy. ::)


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